


Rose Rosse, per Te

by Eara



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Flashfic challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 01:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14390988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eara/pseuds/Eara
Summary: “What good is that supposed to do?” She asked pointedly with a vague gesture towards him.Jack looked down at the flowers in his hand, a couple of bright red roses, and smiled softly.“I'm not apologising, Phryne.”





	Rose Rosse, per Te

It was almost 9 o’clock when he finally made it to Wardlow. It had been a busy day at the station, and he had had to juggle two court depositions with his new murder case. To exactly no one’s surprise, Phryne had found a way in this investigation too. They had seen quite a lot of each other during different times of the day, but each encounter had left a mild sense of unease in his stomach. And, to be honest, a small smile on his lips. 

He entered the foyer and walked swiftly up the stairs, declining Mr Butler's offer of dinner, reaching the dark corridor. At the end of it, the door that gave into the library was wide open. The paper lamps he knew to be in the room emitted an unique orange glow that fell softly out of it. He slowed his steps, approaching the doorframe. 

He loved this room. A multitude of volumes sat on the dusky, wooden bookshelves that padded every available wall. At the end of it, there was an bow window that in the daytime, offered a glorious view on the garden. A chaise lounge dominated in the centre of the room, oriented towards the window, on which he had spent many wintery afternoons. 

She sat there, amongst what appeared to be pages of his pilfered case file. From his leaning position on the doorframe he managed to see, over the back of the chaise, her slightly slumped shoulders. 

He tapped lightly on the woodwork. 

“Evening, Miss Fisher.”

She lifted her head abruptly, in a manner that showed that she had been so engrossed in her work that she hadn't felt his presence behind her. 

She looked at him, eyes big in the half-light. She was sure that at some point during the day she had been angry at him, although now it seemed very unfair. Very childish. Her heart thumped in her chest, quite unsure of how she was supposed to behave. False gaiety would be, she felt, a pointless deception. She nodded at him, hoping he would interpret it as an invitation to come closer, as she had intended. 

He did, and stepped into the room and circumnavigated the chaise to come stand in front of her. He still didn’t sit down, though. She was forced to look up at him, and found some sort of worried amusement in his eyes. 

“What good is that supposed to do?” She asked pointedly with a vague gesture towards him.

Jack looked down at the flowers in his hand, a couple of bright red roses, and smiled softly. 

“I'm not apologising, Phryne.”

She moved aside some papers and he sat down next to her now, on the edge of the chaise. He still held the roses, but she didn't dare to breath them in, afraid she would catch a wave of lavender, mingled with his scent. 

It had been mid morning, when she had marched in his office, ready to start picking each other's brains about their new mystery, and she had found them.  
Jack, leaning on the front of his desk, and Concetta. She had had a hand on his cheek, and his dark eyes had been, so bright. 

Of course he was an honorable man, but she just had not been able to let it go. Oh, in the moment, she had been her splendid self; it had been later in the day, in the quiet minutes, that she had been snappy and irritable. Irritating, he would say.  
And in turn, irritated by it all. 

The flowers where not an apology because he had nothing to apologise, and they both new that. She was glad to hear it, nonetheless. 

“I know. I'm just wondering what they are for.”

He looked down once again, with a curious smile, and playful eyes. 

“Well, since you've been so grumpy all day, I thought they might cheer you up, that's all.” He handed them to her, and she grasped the bouquet very quickly. 

“They're beautiful.” She whispered, after a while. 

“Concetta’s getting married. She had come to tell me. To invite us to the wedding.” Finally, he had the chance to explain. Phryne's behaviour during the day had been what could only be defined as skittish, and he had felt the need of blurting the truth out become more and more pressing every minute they had spent together, not quite on the same page. 

Phryne had to acknowledge that this was probably the moment in which she should say that he didn't need to explain. That she trusted him to be...what, faithful, to her. That she trusted him, in any case. And she did. She wanted to speak, but at hearing his explanation she had freezed. 

So that's why Concetta had been there. His only option to a traditional, perfect life had come to tell him that that option was no more.  
She realised now, as she felt his kind eyes study her face to understand her, why she had been so upset. 

He had been faced with the reality of his choice, with all that came with it, and she had been afraid. Afraid that the realisation that he was now very much stuck with her maddening self would not be a perfectly happy one. That the presence of Concetta in his office would remind him of all he had given up to be with her. Of everything he might regret. 

And now here they were, the Monday evening already slipped away, just some roses between them. 

She looked him in the eyes, willing him to see that she had at last deciphered her own behaviour, to see that she was sorry she had let her stupid insecurities get the better of her; as she lifted her gaze though, she realised that he had already understood, maybe even before her. 

He smiled a disarming smile, the one that left her slightly breathless at times, and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

“Perhaps Phryne, I should be bringing you roses more often.”

**Author's Note:**

> This has been an exquisite fun. Many thanks to Olderbynow and Whopooh for organising, I'm terribly glad I was able to join.  
> Also, the title is in Italian because it looked better, somehow continued Concetta's theme, it is the start of an old Italian love song, and because the translation wasn't actually a challenge for me (hides).
> 
> The prompt I chose was: lavender, circumnavigate, dialogue: "What good is that supposed to do?"


End file.
